


Intruder!

by ChemiToo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemiToo/pseuds/ChemiToo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England returns home after a long day at work, only to find that he's not alone in his house... US x UK, one shot. Some language and adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intruder!

England sighed as he threw open the door to his house and kicked it shut behind him. What a day. He tossed his briefcase on his kitchen table and flipped the light on, stretching. He glanced at the clock on the far wall—9:46 PM.

"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing his eyes and opening the fridge. He flipped the radio on and opened up the fridge. The Rolling Stones were rocking out.

"Aw, nice," he said to himself, smiling and turning the radio up. He bounced around the kitchen to the beat, returning to the fridge in search of that ham sandwich he swore had left there this morning.

"-but he can't be a man cause he doesn't smoke! The same cigarettes as me!" he belted out along with Mick as he shuffled various food items, "I can't get no! Oh no, no, no!" He bobbed his head up and down along with the beat as he searched for his dinner, "Swore I put it in here earlier…" he mumbled to himself, "—that's what I saaaay…" he sang into the fridge as he started searching the contents of the door. Still nothing.

"Where did I-?"

He jumped as a loud thud came from the floor above him. England quietly closed the refrigerator and turned the radio off. He furrowed his brow in concentration, listening for other sounds. He frowned as another dull thud, softer than the last one, came from over his head. Someone was definitely sneaking around upstairs—poorly. He grabbed a kitchen knife from one of the drawers and quietly slid it closed. He stealthily crept up the stairs, knife at the ready. He walked into the dark upstairs hallway, quietly opening his hallway closet and peering inside—empty.

Another thump and a clicking sound caught his attention—it was coming from his storage room. England gripped the knife tightly and ascended the steps to his attic. Whoever it was, they were definitely in there, all right. More clicks, followed by shuffling noises—were they going through his things? England bit back a growl; it was bad enough he had a prowler lurking about in his house, but the asshole was going through his personal property, too? He felt violated, and it made him angry. He approached the open door to the attic, being careful to stay out of the sliver of light passing through the doorway. He cautiously peered in; the silhouette of a man was hunched over a trunk of his belongings, obscured by the dim light bulb within. He took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and loudly threw the door all the way open.

"HEY!" England shouted as he burst into the room, brandishing the kitchen knife. The intruder yelped and jumped into the air, knocking his head on the low ceiling.

"Oww…" the intruder moaned, clasping a hand to his head as he sat back down on the floor of England's attic.

England blinked—he knew that voice.

"America?" he blurted as he approached the figure crouched on his floor.

"H-hey, England!" America laughed nervously, adjusting his crooked glasses, "How's it goin'?"

"How's it GOIN'?" England asked flatly, "I nearly killed you just now—what the hell are you doing in my house?!" he demanded angrily, shaking the knife at the other country for emphasis.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, man," America instructed, eyeing the knife warily, "I just came over for a visit…here, lemme take that-" he added, gingerly reaching forward and trying to grab the knife from the older nation. England retracted his hand, holding the knife at his side and tapping it against his thigh in irritation.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" England repeated quietly, dangerously. America's blue eyes darted from England's face to the door, then back at England's face again.

"Don't even think about it," England growled, his green eyes narrowing into slits, "How did you get in?"

"Well, the door was unlocked," America answered with a shrug, "I'm over here for the conference in a couple of days, and I figured I could come visit you!" he added cheerily. His grin rapidly deteriorated at the look on England's face.

"My door was unlocked?" England blurted, "I _always_ lock my door. Try again," he dared, frowning.

"Hey, man, it's not my fault you don't remember to lock your door when you leave. You're always losing stuff, remember? So maybe-!"

"Alfred," England said sternly, clearly not amused.

"Okay," America sighed, "So I _may_ have picked the lock—BUT!" he shouted as England angrily took a step forward, "It was only so I could get inside," he added as if making a point at a G8 meeting.

England stared at him like he had grown another head.

"So it's justified for you to _break into my house_ because you only wanted to get inside? Am I getting that right?" England hissed. America just shrugged.

"Get out," England demanded, pointing at the door with the knife.

"Aw, come on, man-!"

"OUT," England shouted.

"I don't have anywhere else to stay! All the hotels are full because of the conference, and I was only trying to help you clean!" America protested, brandishing a weathered tri-cornered hat from the trunk he was rummaging around in, "See? Remember this thing?"

England stared at the hat in his hands for a moment. He hadn't worn it since his pirating days…the good old days. Oh, how he missed those times, back when he had kicked Spain's sorry ass, back when America was young and listened to him…he must have been smiling, because America caught on right away.

"Ahh? You like it?" America asked, clearly quite pleased with himself, "Lemme see it on you, Captain," he teased, reaching up and placing the hat on England's head. The other country promptly took it off, frowning.

"Oh come ON," America whined, grabbing the hat from his hands and plunking it back on England's head once again.

"Alfred, cut it out," England sighed, suddenly remembering that it was almost ten 'o'clock and he was exhausted.

"Check _you_ out, dawg!" America exclaimed as he dragged England in front of a large, dusty mirror, "You look like a BAMF,"

"A…a what?" England asked absently, reaching up and touching the brim of the hat. It was old and worn, but the leather was still intact. A bundle of white feathers dangled from the brim—full of dust, but not broken. God, it had been forever since he had taken it out of storage—

He frowned as America plopped a jacket over his shoulders.

"Alfred-!" he snarled, but stopped dead as he caught his reflection in the mirror. "My…my old jacket," he mumbled, reaching up and touching the crimson fabric. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming. He could feel the salt spray on his face, the wind tossing his unruly bangs about as he stood on the deck of the mighty ocean vessel…

"Radical," America commented as he took a bite out of a sandwich that had come out of nowhere, "You look awesome, dude,"

"I…you…" England stammered, starting to come out of his trance, "You ate my sandwich," he stated flatly, tearing his eyes from the mirror and frowning at the younger country with scorn.

"I was hungry," America answered with a shrug as he popped the last chunk of sandwich into his mouth. England sighed, shaking his head and shrugging the jacket off of his shoulders.

"Just get out," England ordered half-heartedly, putting the jacket back in its trunk.

"What, that's it?" America blurted, "You're not even gonna try it on?"

"No, I'm not," England answered quietly, his voice almost a whisper, "And you need to get out," he added, putting the kitchen knife down on the floor as he set about putting his stuff back into the trunk where it belonged. He was about to take the hat off when Alfred suddenly leapt behind him, spun him around, and pushed him to the floor with his back against the wall.

"W-what the hell are you doing?!" England demanded as America pinned him down and tried to kiss him. England squirmed, craning his neck away from him.

"Paying rent," America teased, pecking him lightly on the cheek, then on the neck—

"CUT IT OUT!" England cried, trying to shove America away. Unfortunately, the other man had his wrists, "Bloody HELL, what's gotten into you?!" he cried indignantly as he struggled.

America cocked his head to the side in thought before a devilish smirk crept across his face.

"Nothing…at least, not yet…" he said mischievously, "Unless you'd rather I do it," he added playfully, chuckling. England felt his face positively glowing scarlet. What the hell…?

"A-are you drunk?" he blurted as he leaned away from America's advances.

"Nope," America answered matter-of-factly. England gasped as he managed to land a smooch on England's collarbone, "Ooh, look what I found," America said, raising an eyebrow, "A sensitive spot…" he added devilishly.

"You cut it out right this inst—S-STOP IT!" England cried as America nuzzled his face into his collarbone, nipping at him ever so slightly with his teeth. England realized with shame that he had actually started leaning into America, pushing off of the wall slightly. He tried to correct his mistake, flattening his back against the wall, but it was too late.

"Gotcha," America said with a satisfied grin.

"D-do you see how you're acting right now?" England asked, panicked, "You're worse than France!" he accused, trying to regain some sense of composure. So far, it wasn't working.

"Pfft, France," America laughed, grabbing England and literally throwing him to the floor.

"Ow!" England yelped, though it was more out of surprise than anything else. The younger country effortlessly pinned him down, looking down at him with a very satisfied smirk.

"Listen, France ain't got nothing on me," America said quietly as he opened England's shirt and began planting kisses all along his collarbone and chest. England bit his lip, trying to focus on anything except how good it felt. He felt a pang of shame as a soft moan passed his lips. America sat up, looking at him victoriously.

"Well?" he asked, "You ready, Arthur?"

Arthur was at a loss for words, but his body spoke for him. He sat up, his pirate hat tumbling to the floor, and pulled the other country in for a kiss. Alfred reciprocated, leaning into him. Arthur jumped as Alfred slammed the hat back onto Arthur's head, grinning at him.

"Leave that on, will ya?" he asked playfully as he dragged the other country back onto the floor.


End file.
